There is No Turning Back
by capricious star
Summary: What he didn't know.


There is No Turning Back  
  
***  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or Peter Pettigrew. ::shudders:: Amen to that.  
  
Author's Note: Think whatever you want of this. Personally, I do not like this. ::sighs:: Let me know what you think. Slightly depressing, little angst. Definitley not happy, though. I'm sorry, I have science midterms tomorrow and I can't think right.   
  
***  
  
Peter Pettigrew sat next to Lord Voldemort shivering, even though he was seated in front of a roaring, cheery fire. The fire, however, was the only warm thing in the room, for the Lord's coldness overtook everything else.  
  
"Wormtail," the Lord's high voice commanded, "Wormtail, what are the most recent developments you have heard of Harry Potter's doings lately?"  
  
"He is with his relatives, Lord, and I have heard nothing else."   
  
"Very well. You are holding something back, Wormtail. Tell me it tomorrow morning or else you shall face the consequences." The Lord's nostrils flared.  
  
"Yes, Master," Peter bowed and turned from the room to his own. If you could call it a room, that is.  
  
It was more like a closet, a ragged, miserable thing, with a thin, hard, cotton pallet laid atop a bamboo mat, and a ragged roll of raw silk served as a pillow. A patched and frayed crazy quilt served as a blanket.   
  
A note was laid carefully on top of Wormtail's bed. "Remember," the note said. Peter knew instantly it was from the Lord. He shivered and slid underneath the quilt. He closed his eyes and let himself fall into a restless, tormented sleep.  
  
Peter dreamed of James and Lily.  
  
Not just James and Lily, but Sirius and Remus too. He dreamed of the old days in Hogwarts, where all the pranks had taken place. Except this time, he wasn't there in his human form, but in a rat's body. He scampered alongside them, listening in on their conversation.  
  
It was their seventh year.  
  
Sirius and James were talking. "So, Sirius, what do you think of Peter? He's becoming all secretive lately ... it's like, scary." [A/N: Remember, they're seventeen.]  
  
"Yea. It's unlike Peter to be keeping something. No offense to him, but he's like, a wimp, kind of. He's always blabbered everything to us, you know what I'm saying?"  
  
Wimp! Peter felt mildly offended,  
  
"Yep. And he's been asking Snape questions, of all people. Snape! I'm surprised he hasn't turned into a greasy-haired slug yet."  
  
"Don't forget Malfoy. That snob? He's Snape's best friend! Anyone who's best friends with Snape can't be good. Not to mention those two bumbling gits who follow Malfoy everywhere. Crabbie and Girl, was it? I've forgotten ... what was it, James?"  
  
"Crabbe and, er, Goyle, I think. Well, Peter's our friend, so we really shouldn't be saying this ..."  
  
Peter felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. Peter's our friend, our friend, our friend ... the words echoed throughout his mind. He'd already joined Voldemort by then.  
  
Sirius shrugged. "Yea, I guess. Hey, did you-"  
  
Peter woke with a start, sweaty. Our friend ...  
  
He lay back on the rock-hard pallet and drifted off to sleep once more.   
  
The Wedding Day. Lily and James' Wedding Day.   
  
It was always capitalized in his mind.   
  
It was on that fateful Wedding Day that the Lord had let Peter know his full intentions towards the Potters. "Now that they are wed," he had fleered, "all the better to kill him. The Mudblood need not die; she is harmless. It is that James ... use your influence, Peter. Steal their secrets and tell them all to me ..."  
  
Peter's entire adult life had seemed to consist of saying, "Yes, Master."  
  
So, ruled by fear, he had told his master of the Fidelius Charm. How he had raged! Cursing random Death Eaters (Pettigrew had luckily escaped, unscathed), hurling objects across the underground Chamber, yelling! Wormtail had been petrified. And then Voldemort had turned to him.  
  
"Become the Secret-Keeper," he hissed, red eyes wide, "and then you can tell me where they are!"  
  
"But ... Master ... they're going to use Sirius!"  
  
"No matter!" he spat. "Become cunning like the rat you are, Wormtail ... I trust you are serving me and not the Muggle-lover Dumbledore?"  
  
"Yes-yes of course, master."  
  
And it had just happened to be his luck, of course, that James and Lily had switched to him. He had positively been beaming when he returned to his master.  
  
"Master, I am the secret-keeper! I have attained the position!"  
  
"Well done, Wormtail. Now would you kindly stop rejoicing and tell me where they are?"  
  
Peter had fallen silent.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"You ... say it is your purpose to kill James, is it? And their baby ... Gerry, is it? Not Lily, right?"  
  
Voldemort looked over at him, obviously amused by the expression on his face. "Wormtail, Wormtail, Wormtail ... what is the purpose of this sudden inquisition? Is it that you have taken a ... er, fancy to Mrs. Potter?"  
  
Mrs. Potter. How it stung. Peter flushed. "Well, Lord, in a way ... but my main request was for you- for you not to harm James. Do whatever you like to Gerry. But James ... do whatever you want, just please, please, don't kill him, please, master! And if you can find it in your heart to refrain from hurting Lily ..." He had stopped. It was no use pleading with the Master. He was the Master, after all.  
  
Voldemort looked down at Pettigrew's sniveling figure. "Why do you treasure James so dearly?"  
  
"He-he was my friend ..." moaned Peter. "Please, Master, I will do anything, anything, I-"  
  
Voldemort kicked Peter in the side. He was now rolling on the floor, clutching his ribs, gasping.  
  
"You are a fool," said Voldemort, sneering again, "do you not know, that to immerse yourself in the Dark Arts that you spare no one, pity no one, have mercy on none? Surely even someone as idiotic as you are know this ..."  
  
"But, Master, surely ... in your time, did you never love anyone? Anyone at all? Any girl, any friend, a best friend, who supported you through troubled times?"  
  
Voldemort's pale features clouded. "Yes, there was someone. But that was long, long ago. She was-she turned on me. She refused to help me, so what was there to do? I-" He scowled. "Wormtail, I am going to kill whoever stands in my way. This rule applies to everyone, including my followers. And that would apply to you, would it not, Wormtail?"  
  
"Yes, yes Master, but, please, PLEASE, Master! Ma-"  
  
Peter woke with a jolt. Voldemort stood over him, bemused. "Now, Wormtail, what was it so terrifying that you were dreaming about?"  
  
Peter took a deep breath. "You will not like it, Master."  
  
His red eyes darkened. "I never like anything, Wormtail."  
  
"Oh, well ... I was dreaming about the, er, night before the Potters' death, when you told me about someone you loved ..."  
  
Something strange flitter over the Lord's face, making him look vaguely human. "Yes, yes ..." he whispered.  
  
"Who was it?" inquired Peter. "Who was it that you loved?"  
  
Voldemort looked as if he was about to break down and start weeping, had he been able to. Along with his immortal life, he also had acquired the inability to cry. Lack of tear glands, Wormtail supposed.  
  
"Who was she?" Wormtail asked yet again.  
  
Voldemort looked back down at Peter, still lying on his mat. "I killed her," he said, quietly.  
  
"You-you killed her?"  
  
"Yes," he said, as faint smile on his mouth. Lacking lips, it gave him an eerie look. "I killed her. Are you happy now, Wormtail?"  
  
"I-I-I never knew," faltered Peter.  
  
Voldemort turned away and began walking back towards his room. "Go back to sleep, Wormtail," he commanded coldly, "it is late. And you must remember, I am still waiting for that little secret of yours in the morning."  
  
He had walked no more than a few feet before Wormtail called out tentatively yet again. "Master?"  
  
Voldemort halted.  
  
Peter was slightly befuddled by the night's events. First, the torments of his old friends. Second, the strange, humanly behavior of Voldemort. Third, his insomnia.  
  
"Don't you regret it, Lord?"  
  
Voldemort spoke slowly. "There is no turning back, Wormtail. Things you have done are done, no matter what you do. Always there in your mind, no matter where you go, or what you do, deeds are there. Best you live with it, or else they will all come back and haunt you. You can not go back on things you have said or done. I have long departed from the stage of regrets, Wormtail."  
  
Peter said nothing. Voldemort continued his journey towards his room.  
  
No turning back. None. Never.   
  
James, Lily, Sirius, Remus ........  
  
The names echoed through his head.  
  
"He's our friend."  
  
"Peter's our friend, so we shouldn't really be saying this ..."  
  
James, James, James ......  
  
"Yea, I guess. Did you-"  
  
Sirius, Sirius, Sirius ...  
  
"Peter? Alive? It can't be!"  
  
Remus, Remus, Remus ...  
  
"Hi, Peter."  
  
Lily, Lily, Lily, Lily, Lily!  
  
Peter broke down into harsh, guttural sobs. He cried at his unfaithfulness, while his friends had remained so steadfastedly loyal. He sobbed at his life, and what he was now. He weeped for his friends, now dead, mentally and physically, because of him. He wailed for the innocence and trust of children.  
  
But most of all, he grieved for Lily.  
  
No turning back now, a voice told him. You can't go back on things you have said, deeds you have done. What makes you think you can be good, now? After all the things you've done, you've heard the Lord himself, he said so. He's really far gone, Peter, you've seen him. He killed the woman he loved and felt nothing. What does that mean to you?  
  
I don't believe you, said Peter, I think he still grieves for her. He has his regrets. He's still part-human, after all.  
  
No matter. All the same, Peter, there's no turning back. You know you can't become the little boy you used to be.  
  
There is no turning back.  
  
The tears came again.  
  
No turning back, Peter.  
  
There is no turning back.  
  
***  
  
finis 1/1  
  
*** 


End file.
